Piano Lessons
by i'mnotcrazy82
Summary: Cuddy visits House after his release from Mayfield...HUDDY Rated M for smut


_**AN-**_

_**Just a little something I wrote for shits and giggles. I was practicing my smut skills, and I think I did a good job...Enjoy!! Review if you want :) Let me know if my smut skills are okay :)**_

_Piano Lessons_

He sat slumped at his piano, lightly running his fingers over the familiar ivory keys. Friends and lovers had come and gone through the years, but his piano had always been there. The music that he had made with it spanned nearly two decades, and it had seen him through both good times and bad.

If he had been a sentimental man, he would have said it was his best friend, but he wasn't. Though, he was much more possessive over that particular instrument than any of his other possessions. If he had come home to find his place had been robbed, he would miss the piano the most. His nearly forty year old guitar would have been a close second.

A mug of coffee sat on the shiny black top. A necessity now. As a part of his rehab, he had been forced to give up alcohol. They could make him do that, but he would never give up the black java goodness that he drank. He was...depressed would have been the clinical word for it. He was bitter, very bitter. He felt like a slave, like he had lost his freedom. It was the price he had been forced to pay for giving up being miserable. Yet he had given that up, and he was still miserable.

His phone rang yet again. He raised his eyes, alert for who the caller was. His familiar voice message came on. _House here. Well, not really. Take you chance._ The machine beeped, and then a familiar sultry voice came over the speakers. "House, it's Cuddy. We really need to talk, about...things. I know things aren't the best... Damn, I suck at this. I'm sorry." His eyes dulled again, and he began to play again.

He thought of her. She, the reason for it all. The reason he had been willing to give up everything that he held dear. He had given up his addictions, plural, for her. For nothing. He felt his shoulders tense, and the tears threatened again. The ache in his thigh began to radiate through his body, and he slammed his fists down on the pure ivory keeps, the discorded notes echoing through the lonely apartment.

He balled up his left fist, clenching his teeth. He used the heel of his right hand to rub the ache away. It never helped, but he hoped it would. They had given him some non opiate painkillers at the facility, and he had begun to do physical therapy. It helped, but he could use less of the religious mumbo-jumbo that they preached to him. After several minters, the ache began to alleviate slightly, and he ran his fingers through his short hair. After they had let him out, he had went straight to a barber, and he had his hair cut short. But he hadn't shaved his beard. He rubbed the coarse growth along his jaw.

Lost in his own thoughts and melancholy, he didn't hear the knock at the door. He barely noticed the door clicking open. He stared at the keys, waiting for who he thought was Wilson to lecture him about wallowing in his own worthlessness and depravity, like he had before. Like he had after the infarction, after Stacy.

Instead, he felt a presence sit on the corner of the piano bench. He looked up, and he stared into her reflective blue gray eyes. His eyes widened slightly, and he swallowed. "Why...," he began, his voice hoarse from shock.

"We need to talk," she said softly.

He looked away quickly. "Nothing to talk about. I lost my mind, lost the important part of me. _Lost you, just when I thought I had found you._ He stared at the keys, determined to not look back up at her. _She doesn't need me, doesn't want me._ The evil voice of his non existent self worth echoed through his mind.

"There's plenty to talk about," her voice was steady. _Oh House, what have you become. Where is that confident man that I've known for twenty years. He must be in there somewhere._ "When are you coming back to work." She thought she'd venture to a safe topic. Work. The place that she missed him the most.

"I can't," he whispered. He shook his head. "I can... It's the infarction all over again," he choked out. "I can barely get around the apartment." He slumped, burying his face in his hands at the revelation. "Besides," he laughed bitterly, "you fired me."

At first she was shocked, but she quickly recovered. "You're job is there if you want it. I want you back. I," she fumbled for the words. "I was wrong to fire you. I was thinking with my emotions. Besides," she mimicked his bitter laugh, "if Foreman kills another patient, he's fired. He's not you."

She waited for his response patiently. She tried not to fidget, but she wound up reaching out and tapping lightly on the higher pitched keys of the piano. "You know," she sighed, "I always wanted to learn how to play."

He looked up. "So why didn't you learn?"

"My mom made me learn to play the flute."

"Ahhh, that explains a lot," he found himself smiling, then he remembered the delusional sex, and once again, his bitterness returned, and he felt himself frowning again.

He watched her tap the random keys for a moment, then he reached for her. "Come here. He pushed the bench back a little, and he placed her on his lap, his chest to her back. He took her small hands his large calloused ones.

"House, what are you..." She tried to turn and look at him.

"Shhhhh," he whispered softly. "Let me." He placed her hands on the piano. "Relax, let me lead," he murmured in her neck, causing shivers to run down her spine. Using his fingers, he pressed down on hers, causing the notes to sound. He'd shift her hands down the piano, and the song echoed disjointedly through the apartment.

"I've never heard this song before," she said softly, enjoying the tune that they were playing together. The notes became smoother, and she could appreciate the song."

"No one has," he whispered in her ear, the hair tickling his face. "I wrote it for you."

She tensed up, and she pulled her hands away from his. She turned around in his lap, and she looked at him bewildered. "You wrote...a song...for me?" She felt tears welling up in her eyes, so she blinked them back. Why hadn't he told her...

"I...," he fumbled for the words, "It reminded me of you, stubborn and confident, and beautiful." He traced her jaw with his fingers. "I wrote it the night of your kid's Simchat Bath."

She felt her jaw drop slightly, "oh," was the only thing she could say. The thought of him writing something so beautiful for her had rendered her speechless.

He interpreted her silence as something else. "I...If you don't like it, it's okay." He shrugged, and he tried to look away.

"No, House," she looked at him. "I love it." She cupped his face in her hands, and she softly pressed her lips to his. When he parted his lips, she broke it off. She grinned at his confused look. "Hang on a second. She slid off of his lap, and he immediately missed her warmth. He watched as she walked toward his bathroom, admiring the sight of her ass. He had missed that ass; it was worth going back to work just to see it on a daily basis. She returned a few moments later, with a bowl of warm water, a towel, the can of shaving foam he had bought when he was on methadone, and one of the disposable razors he had purchased with the foam.

He looked at her warily. "What are you doing."

She shook her head, and she put her fingers to his lips. "I'm not kissing you with that beard. I love the three day stubble, but not the bush that you have growing on your face." She put the items on the bench, and she leaned on the piano keys, causing a discordant note to fill the room. She filled her hands with the foam, and she lathered up the several months growth of facial hair.

"If I had known this was one of your fantasies," he trailed off. Then something in his mind clicked. "You want to kiss me," he muttered, shivering from the memories of his delusion.

She wet the razor, and she began to gently shave his face, starting at his right temple, moving down. She paused, rinsing out the razor. "Wilson told me, about, what happened..." she said softly. The guilt she had for not noticing something was wrong began to build back up in her belly. "I'm sorry," she met his eyes. "I should have known..."

He leaned in, and he pressed his lips to hers again, relishing how soft and warm they were. He wondered if she would taste the same as she had the last time they had kissed for real.

She giggled, and she pushed him gently back. He had left traces of lather on her face, and he couldn't help but give her a weary half smile. She picked up the towel, and she wiped her face clean. She fought of the urge to kiss him again, and she once again drug the razor through the tangle mess of coarse hairs. Slowly she exposed his face. When she was finished, she took the towel, and she gently wiped the remaining lather off his face.

He stared at her. "Why are you doing this..." He needed to know the answer, to hear her words.

"So I can do this," she kissed him again, but this time she deepened it. He pressed his tongue against her closed lips, and she parted them for him. His eyes rolled back underneath his eyelids at the intense pleasure at that feeling. He quickly stood up, pressing her against the piano keys, lifting her up on them.

His fingers became entangled in her raven hair, and she moaned softly in his mouth. He became the aggressor, pressing himself against her. He slid his hands to her hips, keeping her in place while he ground himself against her. He wasn't sure if he should be doing it, but he had kept his feelings at bay for so long, that he knew he couldn't stop himself if he tried. He slid his hands underneath her top, lightly running his fingers along her sides. Her moans became more insistent, and, with her help, he pulled her top off, revealing her red lace bra.

He pulled away from her mouth, and he began to nibble along her neck, trailing down to where her neck met her shoulder. From the intensity of her moans, he knew that he had hit a sweet spot. He ran his tongue there, lapping at her soft skin. He felt her hands run through his hair, as she pulled him closer to her.

He planted kisses along her collarbone, nipping at the skin. From there, he kissed the swells of her breasts. He snaked his hand up her back, and with his nimble fingers, he unsnapped her bra. He leaned back, and he couldn't help but smile as the twins were set free. He cupped them in his large hands, weighing them. He encircled the already erect nipples with his thumbs, teasing them even more. He grinned at her closed eyes, and at the way she arched her back towards him, giving him even more access. He lowered his head, and he took the right nipple in his mouth, and he suckled it, lapping at it with his tongue.

While he was teasing her nipple with his mouth, he slid his left hand down her body, while the right one pressed on the small of her back, pushing her towards him. He found the button of her slacks, and he unfastened it one handed. He unzipped her slacks, and he lifted his head from her breast. He looked at her for a long moment, as if to ask, do you want this?

She saw the meaning in his eyes, and she lifted her hips for him, so he could pull the slacks off of her. He smiled, and he did just that, leaving her matching red lace thong in place. He slid his fingers underneath the silky fabric, and he teased the soft dark curls there.

She responded by wiggling on the keys. He smiled, enjoying the music that she was playing with her ass. He took off the thin scrap of red silk, and he leaned back, imprinting the view of her naked, on his piano in his mind. He never wanted to forget this moment.

"Are you ready," he whispered huskily. He slid a finger into her hot core, and she couldn't suppress her moan. He kissed her softly, and he pulled the piano bench closer. He sat down, and he licked her wet slit.

She felt his tongue flick against her clit, and she had to force herself not cum right there. The things that he was doing to her with his lips, tongue, and teeth were driving her mad. She felt herself being pushed to the edge. He blew air softly against her clit. "Don't hold back," he moaned against her. "Cum for me." He suckled her clit, driving her over the edge.

She looked up at him. "You're over dressed," she half whispered, half moaned. She had waited twenty years for this, and here he was, taking his time.

"So I am." He stood up, and he pushed the bench back. He pulled the t-shirt over his head, and she reached for his belt buckle. He let her unfasten his fly, and she pushed his jeans and boxers down to his ankles, freeing his erection. He teased her opening with the tip of his penis. "Do you want this?" She moaned and arched against him, so he smiled and slowly filled her with his length.

He started with slow, teasing strokes, pulling nearly all the way out, then sliding in to her to the hilt. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer to her. He swallowed her moans with deep kisses, relishing the feeling of her tight walls around him. His strokes soon became harder and faster, and she encouraged him by meeting him in his rhythm. He watched as she lost control again, screaming incoherently into his shoulder. A few strokes later, he let go as well.

She clung to him, and he was holding himself upright by placing his hands beside her on the piano. Their breathing was hard, and sweat caused their bodies to glisten. She recovered first. "House," what was that?" she asked in wonder.

"The best sex you've ever had," he staggered back toward the bench, and he began to roughly massage his maimed thigh. He shot her a grin, but it quickly became a grimace.

She didn't answer his banter. "You did that, even through the pain?" She suddenly became very away of their nakedness, not that the afterglow of their love making had worn off. She reached down, she pulled on his t-shirt, then she sat next to him, watching him rub his thigh.

"The orgasm took the edge off," he looked at her. "You are that good, you know."

She smiled. This was the House she remembered. She watched as he put his boxers back on. "You should come back to work."

"Is that what that was? Fuck me so I'll go back to work," his eyes became hard. "So, just how many of the other doctors have you performed this service to? No wonder Wilson's always hanging out by your office." He snapped at her.

"You're an ass." She closed her eyes, not letting his words cut to her. "This is a special service I only provide for the doctor I like. The doctor I trust," she echoed his words from all those years ago.

"Good. You provided it, you should leave now." He was frustrated.

"Is the pain really that bad?" she said softly, not willing to leave his side.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then he caught her eyes. He saw the concern, and something else. It made her eyes sparkle. "It's bad. And there's nothing I'll ever be able to do about it." He ran his fingers through his hair.

"One step at a time." She took his hand in hers, brushing the knuckles with her thumb.

He turned to look at her, and they both jumped as the door opened. Wilson stood there, wide-eyed. "You're door was un... I brought you dinn... Oh, my god." He dropped the bag of take out on the floor, and he beat a hasty exit.

She groaned, and she buried her face in her hands. "Oh, no."

He groaned, too, "Fuck! Now we're really going to have to keep having sex now. The hospital gossip will be spreading this around, so we have to keep up appearances." He raised an eyebrow at her.

"You want to...pursue...something with me," she asked softly.

"As long as you don't ask me to baby sit," he muttered. He brushed her hair away from her face. He leaned in, and he stopped a hairsbreadth away from her lips. "Do you want me?"

She blinked, then she leaned up and kissed him deeply. "I've always wanted you," she whispered against his lips, after they had come up for air. She grinned at him. "I'm going to go see what Wilson brought us." She got up, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight of his t-shirt barely covering her ass.

She brought the bag over. "Chinese."

"Good ol' mother Wilson. Always taking care of me," he grinned as he opened up the cartons. He watched her eat, and then he smiled. "So, when can I move in."


End file.
